Awards ceremony

Zambesi Retrospective Show: Noelle McCarthy and Robert Niwa. Photo / Norrie Montgomery

Forget Pammie. Iggy Pop was the hero of Fashion Week for me. What, you didn't see him? You must have heard him. That was him last Tuesday night, opening the Zambesi show with a reading of Edgar Allan Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, and again on Thursday, belting out The Passenger for the rollicking finale at Stolen Girlfriends Club.

From the depths of a gothic fever dream to a soundtrack for some pretty little sunburnt nomads, Iggy demonstrated an impressive range last week.

Speaking of range, how about those models! All human life was embodied in their shapely forms both on and off the catwalk. Not just walking this year, but talking, blogging, crying, complaining, cross-dressing and (possibly) pregnant too. And you thought they just got gussied up and wore the clothes.

Vintage is a term that covers any old pile of rubbish in this industry, but this was a vintage year for Air NZ Fashion Week, in the best possible sense.

It was never going to be easy, and there was no guarantee they'd pull it off - the vibe was jumpy on Opening Night, and it wasn't just the popping corks giving our nerves a twang either, but the collections lined up, and one after another the designers pulled it out of the bag.

We started with a sweep and a swoon at Cybele on Tuesday and finished off with the ultimate in feel-good finales as Liz Finlay took her curtain call at the Zambesi retrospective, dwarfed, adorably, by the biggest bunch of lilies in the world.

In between we had cinematic mastery and a bunch of headstrong young puritans at NOM*d, Revenge of the Turban at Hailwood, not to mention the drop-dead "f**k you" cool of Kate Sylvester's Diamond Dogs. She gave out little badges to the front row, saying "Diamond dogs" and "Prefect". A very cool touch. But she is very cool, isn't she, Kate Sylvester? Clever without being pompous and witty without being sneering, Kate's badge should read "Class Act".

Dayne Johnston gets a "Best In Show" for a menswear collection for Zambesi that was simultaneously timeless and right on trend, and Liz Finlay and Margi Robertson can share the "Head Girl" badge like good sisters, because they both are proving once again this year that it takes a true original to get to the top of the game.

We should dig out that clown badge Karen Walker gave out a few years ago, and post it over to Pamela and Ritchie Rich, whatever planet they're on presently, and Stolen Girlfriends gets a "Most Improved" tick for a collection that was light years better than anything we've seen from them before.

Trelise doesn't get a badge, she gets a cup of tea instead. She probably needs one after that storm-in-a-sweater. Yes, a jumper as-seen-in-Topshop isn't the best look on a catwalk show.

But mainstream fashion is the business of imitation, basically, and we're quite comfortable with that here in New Zealand, I think, judging by the amount of knock-off Balenciga, Miu Miu and Dior that was kicking around Halsey St last week.

And so it goes, the scandals, the successes, the intrigues, the regrets. All over for another year.

And now here I am back at my desk, with a yoghurt, a spot and very bad hair. Thank you M.A.C for the makeup, Iggy for the music, and Ricardo the uber-usher for the laughs.

Thanks to the team at Fashion Week and the designers who decide year after year to devote their time, their creativity and their money to creating a few minutes of silk-spun ephemera that we call a fashion show.

When it's good, it's very, very good, and when it's bad, it's very good too. Well played Fashion Week, well played.